


Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Chicago, Illinois

by fitofpique



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-11
Updated: 2009-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitofpique/pseuds/fitofpique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU in the Sixteen Candles 'verse, but a little less Dracula, a little more ET.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Chicago, Illinois

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to secrethappiness and cindyjade for betaing. The title is cribbed from Sufjan Stevens.

Pete's life, or more accurately his afterlife, really fucking sucked sometimes, absolutely no pun intended. It felt like he had spent a million nights like this, watching and walking the wet streets alone. He cut through the alley at a run but made sure he was strolling casually when he hit the street again. He popped his collar and pretended to tie his shoe. When he was sure no one was following him, he slipped through the gates and into the shadows. 

He knew it made him a walking cliché, but the cemetery was where he did his best thinking. The breeze hustled him along, through the too-long grass and past a cluster of neglected mausoleums, huddled together in the gloom. The door of one was hanging drunkenly off its hinges, so Pete approached with caution, the ghost of a heartbeat thudding suddenly in his ears as he peered cautiously around the door. Nothing but a few empties and a sad tangle of black satin in the corner. He went in and sat on the lid of the stone sarcophagus, elbows on knees, head in hands, and sighed. 

It had been another shitty day in a long season of shitty days. Pete was used to being terribly, constantly unhappy, but he was fucking sick of it. He bounced his heels off the stone for a minute and then wiggled his fingers into the back pocket of his jeans and fished out his phone. Patrick was number 1 on his speed dial.

"Pete, I'm asleep," he answered. 

"That's okay," Pete said. "But listen, hey. I'm thinking of growing a mustache." 

"No," Patrick said.

"But–" 

"No," Patrick repeated. 

"Okay," Pete sighed. "What about a goatee?" 

There was a pause and a rustling on the other end of the line that mean Patrick was rolling over or possibly putting on a hat.

"I think it might make me look more menacing," Pete said.

"Maybe," Patrick said, and Pete caught the grin in his voice. "Let me think about it. 

"All right," Pete agreed. "You can go back to sleep now." 

"That's big of you," Patrick said. "Don't stay out too long."

"Yeah, yeah," Pete said. "Later, dude." 

"Night, Pete." 

Pete hit end and smiled to himself. He felt calm, for once, as he started to walk back to the gates. A sudden snap of wind sent clouds scudding across the moon, shadows twisting over the graffiti scrawled across the old stone wall informing Pete that EXISTENTIALISM IS DEAD. He was trying to figure out how to use it in some lyrics he was working on when it hit him. 

Like literally hit him. Like the fist of an angry god. 

He wasn't sure how long he was out. He only knew that it was fucking dark and his head hurt and he couldn't breathe, not that he needed to but it still freaked him out sometimes when he forgot. He tried to move, but he was pinned underneath something, something frozen and slick. It made no sense. Yes, it was December, but even in winter, Chicago had no history of random avalanches in its city cemeteries as far as Pete knew. He had no idea which way was up but the Discovery Channel had never steered him wrong, so he spit as hard as he could to figure it out. His saliva hit whatever was on top of him with a hollow plink and dribbled back down onto his forehead. 

He sighed heavily. What a seriously shitty-ass day. 

It wasn't full winter yet, and it had rained earlier, so Pete had sort of sunk into the ground instead of being flattened. He managed to wriggle one arm between his chest and what felt like a sheet of ice and was working on inching his other arm into position when whatever it was made a sound like a car slipping between gears and rose up until it was hovering in the air above him, humming softly. Pete rolled over until he was in the clear and scrambled to his feet. He cracked his neck and wiped his face and stared. What the fuck? 

It was oblong and perfectly smooth and made out of what looked like polished pewter, but what really freaked Pete's shit out was the way it glowed, the softest white blue. He was reaching out to touch the almost mirrored surface when the outline of a door appeared. If Pete's heart had been beating, it would have stopped right then. Or maybe a second later, when the door slid soundlessly aside and an alien tripped out. 

"Holy shit," Pete said. 

The alien stared at him impassively, kicked at the ground with one of its really complicated looking boots, and then shifted its weight from one foot to the other, like a shy kid at the playground. "My LFD indicated that this area was free of life forms," it said, smoothing a hand over its slicked-back hair. 

Pete frowned. "Well, obviously your LFD is defective." 

"I don't think so," the alien said, and then just stood there, looking not at all apologetic for flattening Pete with its spaceship. 

It was really kind of handsome for an alien, with obscenely curved eyebrows and the straightest nose Pete had ever seen. But its face was weirdly expressionless, which was as unnerving as hell and also kind of irritating now that the shock was wearing off. "Well then, maybe _you're_ defective," Pete snapped. He tugged at the sleeves of his jacket and checked to make sure his hair wasn't sticking up all weird and then crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

"I assure you the Life Form Detector is fully functional," the alien said in a totally different voice, without moving its lips. 

Pete's mouth dropped open. Had he finally learned to read minds without realizing it? 

The alien looked down and Pete followed its gaze. A pug in a green turtleneck was sitting on the ground at the alien's feet. "I tested it myself only yesterday," the dog said. 

Pete shook his head hard, but the alien dog was still there, smiling up at him with its tongue hanging out. 

"Greetings," it said. "We come in peace."

"Oh my God." Pete had no idea if vampires could get concussions, but he was hallucinating talking alien pugs, so he was pretty sure he had one. Either that or Patrick was fucking with the ingredients in his blood substitute again. The alien and the dog were both staring at him now. The alien seemed kind of bored, but the dog looked expectant. Pete gave them what he hoped was the universal sign for please hold and speed-dialed Patrick.

He picked up on the third ring. " _Pete_ ," Patrick groaned. "If you're waking me up to talk about facial hair again, I'm going to kick your ass!"

"Patrick, hi," Pete said, forcing himself to sound casual. "I was just wondering. Have you made any changes to my blend lately?"

"Uh, no," Patrick said. "You made the last few batches yourself, remember?" 

"Ha! Oh, yeah. I forgot," Pete laughed. "I sort of hit my head."

"Pete, what the hell happened? Are you okay?" Patrick was starting to sound anxious, his voice ratcheting higher as he got out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants with lots of change and his keys already in the pocket. "Never mind. Just tell me where you are and I'll come get you."

"We're in the cemetery." 

"We?" Patrick was almost hysterical. "Do I need to go find the guys?" 

"No, it's cool." Pete fake grinned at the alien and its dog, who were now looking at him with twin expressions of interest. He felt strangely smug that he'd finally managed to change the look on the alien's face. "Just bring the car." 

He pressed end and was about to shove the phone back in his pocket when the alien blurted out, "Can I see that?" 

"This?" Pete said, and handed his BlackBerry over. 

"Holy shit," the alien said, staring down at the phone cradled tenderly in its palm. Its expression still hadn't changed, but it was pretty excited if its voice was anything to go by. 

"Do you want to call someone?" Pete asked. 

"Maybe," the alien said, stroking its fingers over the back of Pete's phone. It didn't appear to be in any rush.

"We can get you one of your own," Pete offered, which just confirmed the whole head injury theory. What the fuck was he doing making promises to hot aliens with 1950s haircuts that he was very probably hallucinating?

"Really?" A smile spread slowly across the alien's face. "That would be amazing." 

Pete tried to ignore the shiver that went through him when the alien looked at him like that. "Yeah," he said, and his voice sounded weird to him, breathless. "One thing though. Who are you?"

"Oh!" the alien said, and laughed, or at least that's what Pete thought that weird sound was. "I'm Mikey. Mikey Way," the alien said, "and this is Winston." 

"Good to meet you," Pete said, sticking his hand out. "I'm Peter Wentz. Pete. Welcome to earth."

"You're very kind," Winston said, bowing his head slightly.

"Yeah," Mikey said, looking at Pete's outstretched hand for a second before reaching out and shaking it gingerly, sending a tingle through Pete's palm. "Sorry we landed our PTD on you."

Pete thought about explaining why he hadn't shown up on their life detector device, but he decided it could wait. "So," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "What brings you to earth?" 

Mikey frowned. "I need to find my brother." 

Pete didn't like seeing that look on his face, which must have been why he blurted out, "Maybe I could help you." 

"Really?" Mikey said.

Pete nodded. "Yeah." 

"Excellent," Winston said, and turned away to snuffle at the spaceship. An instant later, the whole thing disappeared. 

Pete gaped at the suddenly empty patch of grass. "Huh," he said. "That will actually make things a lot easier." He had a million questions he wanted to ask, but dawn was approaching fast and he could hear Patrick's car, just a block or so away.

"Is that your friend?" Mikey asked, as Patrick pulled up outside the cemetery gates, sprang out of the car and hurried toward them.

"Yeah." Pete smiled and waved at him.

"I like his hat," Mikey said. 

Pete smiled even wider. "Yeah, that one's awesome," he agreed.

*

The four of them hadn't been back at the house long when the rest of the gang filed through the front door, all of them bruised and dusty and laughing. Pete wasn't going to be able to stay up for much longer, he could feel the sunrise snapping at his heels, but he wanted to at least do the introductions and see how everyone took it before he turned in for the day.

"Hey, you guys," he said. 

"Oh man, you should have been there tonight!" Andy said, ax swinging loosely from one hand. "We totally kicked their nightwalking asses!" He held his free hand in the air until Patrick took pity on him and gave him a high five. 

"It was actually pretty amazing," Alicia admitted, almost smiling. "I think we got five." 

"Alicia got a hat trick," Joe said over his shoulder, making a beeline for the steamer trunk they used as a coffee table.

"Yeah I did!" Alicia huffed a breath onto her nails and polished them on her sweatshirt. 

"That's awesome, gang," Pete said, beaming at them. "But, hey. Listen. We're going to have some guests for a while." 

"Aha!" Joe said, from inside the trunk. He reappeared with a joint in his hand and a satisfied look on his face. "That's cool with me," he said, lighting up and taking a huge hit before he even got to his feet.

"This is Mikey," Pete said. "Mikey, this is Joe, Andy, and Alicia." He gestured at each of them in turn.

"Hi," Mikey said. "This is Winston." Winston smiled at them from his undignified position on Mikey's lap, but he didn't speak, thankfully. 

"Good to meet you," Alicia said cheerfully, sticking out her hand. 

Mikey shook it politely. "Nice to meet you too."

"Where are you from?" Andy asked, shaking Mikey's hand more vigorously than Pete felt was really necessary. 

"Um. We're from–" Mikey looked at Pete uncertainly, but Pete just shrugged. "Ellivelleb?"

Alicia nodded. "That's in Hawaii, right?" 

"No," Andy scoffed. "It's in Vermont." 

Pete couldn't stand it anymore. "You guys, it's another planet. They're from another planet." 

Joe laughed, a high startled sound, and pointed at Mikey. "This dude's an extraterrestrial? I have got to stop smoking this shit," he said, licking his thumb and index finger and damping out the joint. 

"Yeah," Pete said. "I don't know if that's the politically correct term, but yeah, he is." 

"Shut up," Alicia said, reaching over and shoving Pete hard in the shoulder.

"Peter speaks the truth," Winston said. 

The gang all stared at Mikey with matching expressions of confusion.

"Did he just beam that into our minds?" Andy said, voice rising in panic or outrage or panicked outrage. "Because I am not okay with that!" 

"Guys," Patrick said, and pointed at Winston.

"Our race is not telepathic," Winston said helpfully. 

"Holy shit," Andy said, and took a giant step back, knocking into the wall. 

Joe lit up his joint again and took a long toke. "What the fuck?" he said in a choked voice.

Pete held up his hands. "Look, I was surprised at first too, especially when they landed their spaceship on me, but they're totally cool. Calm down." 

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Andy tightened his grip on the ax. "How do you know they're not going to try to take over the planet?"

Alicia burst out laughing. "One guy and a talking dog?" 

Andy's face turned scarlet. "They could be the recon team! You don't know!"

"Stop freaking out!" Patrick said, in an exasperated voice. “They are not here to take over the world, Jesus. Mikey needs our help to find his brother–" He shot Mikey a quizzical look.

"Gerard," Mikey said.

"Really?" Patrick said, staring for a second and then shaking his head. "Whatever. Mikey needs help, and that's what we do, right? We help people." 

"Yeah, _people_ ," Andy said, kicking at the floorboards and frowning.

"Guys!" Patrick said, in the steely voice that everyone knew meant it was time to stop fucking around.

There was a long awkward silence during which everyone pretended not to stare at Mikey and Winston. 

Alicia finally broke it by saying, "I really like your boots."

"Thank you. I really like your ... stake," he said, looking at the weapon sticking out of the pocket of Alicia's hoodie. 

"Oh, right," she said, taking it out and fondling it lovingly. "It's my favourite."

Mikey looked up at Pete quizzically. "Isn't it dangerous to have those lying around? I mean ... those things kill you, right?" 

"Well, not on their own," Pete said, scratching his head. "And the guys are pretty careful about putting their weapons away when they get back from a hunt." 

"A hunt for what?" Mikey asked, pulling Winston a little closer. 

Andy smiled viciously. "Vampires!" 

Alicia shot him a quelling look and then turned to Mikey. "Vampires are supernatural beings that–"

"I know what they are," Mikey cut in, a worried little frown creasing his face.

"They can get TV and stuff on his planet," Pete said. "He's surprisingly well-informed."

"Ellivelleb was pretty dangerous," Mikey explained. "Ma didn't like us to play outside much."

Alicia made a sad face. "Awww."

Mikey shrugged. "It wasn't that bad. Me and Gerard were pretty good at entertaining ourselves."

Pete's phone rang, the theme from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. He hit ignore.

"So," Mikey said, "you hunt vampires?"

"Fuck yeah, we do," Alicia said, clenching her stake tightly. 

Mikey sat back in his chair with a look of surprised disapproval. 

But," Mikey paused and pointed at Pete. "You _are_ a vampire."

"Yes," Pete nodded. "But I'm not like them. They're monsters, Mikey," he said, not trying to hide his loathing. "They're evil." 

"But you're not evil," Mikey said, frowning even more deeply. 

"No," Pete said, fiercely. "I mean. I try really hard not to be." Patrick reached over and squeezed his shoulder and Pete smiled at him, grateful. 

"But. Are you sure they're all bad?" Mikey said, his eyes wide and serious. 

Pete had to make a real effort not to growl at the thought of them, the things they did without thought or provocation. "They're all killers, Mikey. If any of them were like me, I'd know." 

Mikey looked skeptical. There was a tiny, pointed silence during which doubt rolled down Pete's spine like icy water. He'd never thought about it, but what if he was wrong? It was a shocking as a slap. 

"Pete's right," Andy said, darkly. "We'll take you out on a hunt, and you can see for yourself."

*

Pete had barely slept when he was alive, and that hadn't changed now that he was dead (or undead, whatever). His body pretty much shut down as soon as the sun started to peek over the horizon, but his head was an entirely different story. His thoughts had a different quality when he was resting like this. Sometime it was transcendental, like he was meditating or some shit, but most of the time it was awful. His mind was like a wild animal, pacing its cage, looking for a way out.

Pete had never really liked to be alone, but it was exponentially worse now. He felt isolated. Alienated. He listened to the muffled music and low murmur of voices in the living room, Patrick pacing in his room upstairs, the creak of mattress springs in the attic when Alicia rolled over. Usually listening to the sounds of life in the house calmed him but not tonight. On the other side of the bed, Hemingway trembled and let out a tiny yip in his sleep and then snuffled deeper into the duvet. Pete counted his heart beats and tried not to think about what Mikey had said, but he could feel the uncertainty of it in his teeth, the cold ache keeping him awake. It hit him then, with a horrible sick lurch, that Mikey could be right. If even one of them had been like him. Pete closed his eyes and the long hours in which he had nothing to do but wonder stretched out in his mind, no escape.

It felt like he was turning his brain inside out, trying to figure it out. He'd been so sure they were all animals, but maybe he was just deluding himself. How could he be the only one who was different? He told himself he'd just been trying to prevent other people from suffering the way he had, but was that the real reason he hunted them? He thought about the slump of Andy's shoulders when he heard what had happened to Matt, Alicia's hands on her stake when she drove it home, the expression on Patrick's face sometimes when he thought no one was watching. He pictured Mikey's grave stare. 

He didn't think he'd ever sleep, but down into unconsciousness he went.

*

Pete woke with a start at dusk. The dishwasher was running, a soft steady sound, but other than that the house felt empty. Someone had left an oversized mug on his bedside table, the contents still warm. He drank it quickly, gagging at the taste.

He walked upstairs in his socked feet, dropped his mug in the sink, and glanced at the newspaper spread out on the kitchen table. He considered having a shower but decided he could use the dishwasher as excuse to put it off for another day. The car pulled into the drive, doors slammed, dogs barked, and Patrick appeared in the doorway with half a dozen grocery bags in hand and a harried expression.

"That was a bad idea," he said. 

"What?" Pete asked, taking the bags and setting them on the counter. 

Mikey poked his head inside the door. "Pete!" he said, holding a baguette aloft like a trophy. "We went to the grocery store." 

"Great?" Pete said.

"Yeah." Mikey stepped inside so Alicia could get through the door with more bags. "I've only ever seen this stuff on TV."

"So naturally we had to get one of everything." Alicia rolled her eyes. 

"Oh, well," Pete said. "We've got a full house. It'll get eaten." 

Mikey had already opened a box of Count Chocula. He ate a handful dry, chewing thoughtfully and then swallowing with some difficulty. "Huh," he said, accepting a glass of water from Patrick and taking a sip. "Weird." 

"Weird bad?" Pete said. 

"No," Mikey said, but he sounded faintly sad. "It's just that me and Gerard used to talk about what we'd try first when we got to earth. I always thought I'd be eating these with him." 

"Oh," Pete said. He wanted to reach out and pat Mikey's shoulder, or whatever it was people did to be comforting. He didn't. 

"I like the marshmallows," Patrick said, sticking his hand in the box. 

"Everyone likes the marshmallows," Alicia said, taking the box out of Mikey's hand and pouring some in a bowl. "But you've got to have it with milk or you miss the magic." 

Mikey sat down next to her at the table and watched raptly as she dribbled milk into the bowl and then stirred it around. "See?" she said, taking a huge spoonful. 

"Chocolate milk!" Mikey said, his expression awed. 

Pete laughed, and Mikey looked up at him and smiled. Alicia pushed the bowl over to him and he started to eat, hunched over and staring at the back of the cereal box.

"Where are the guys?" Pete asked, when Patrick got up and starting putting things away. 

"They took the – uh," Patrick made a face and started again. "They took Winston and Hemmy for a walk." 

"Oh," Pete said. "That's good. Did Winston–" 

"They can talk to each other!" Alicia blurted out.

"Oh my God." Pete collapsed into a chair. "What did Hemmy say?" 

"Winston said he mostly talks about food," Mikey said. "But he had some very nice things to say about you too." 

"Wow," Pete said. 

"I never understood why the dogs on your live action television series don't speak," Mikey said, making figure eights with his spoon in the dregs of his cereal. "I never imagined it was because they couldn't."

"I always wished Hemmy could," Pete said. "He looks like he really wants to sometimes." 

"Maybe Winston will be able to figure something out," Mikey said. "He's done some research in that area."

"Really?" Pete said. 

"Yes," Mikey said. "He's quite a scholar."

Pete wanted to laugh out loud from happiness. "Are you serious? That would be amazing, dude."

Mikey just gave a little shrug, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

*

"You're sure you don't need me to come?" Pete asked for the tenth time in as many minutes.

Joe looked up from the supersoaker he was filling with holy water and threw a bunch of complicated gang signs. "We'll be fine, yo. Vampires ain't shit!"

"If we need you, we'll call," Patrick said, dropping an armful of stakes into his messenger bag.

Mikey looked up from Patrick's laptop. "If you want to go with them, we'll be fine." 

"I know," Pete said. "I want to hang out though. Help you with the search. How's it coming?" Pete glanced at the laptop, but Mikey was just looking at Craigslist. 

"Okay, I guess," Mikey said. "I'm just not quite sure what I'm looking for."

"We'll figure it out," Pete said. 

"I'm not being the bait again," Andy said, pulling on his jacket. 

Alicia pulled her hair back and then looked in the mirror while she tucked it up under a wool hat. "I said I'd do it, Andy." She stuck a stake up her sleeve and smirked. "I look way tastier anyway."

"That is undeniable," Patrick said, shouldering his bag and shoving his phone into his jacket pocket. 

"You bitch!" Andy said, slinging his ax across his back.

Joe huffed impatiently and opened the front door, letting in a breath of chill air. "Let's go, motherfuckers!"

"Call me if you need me!" Pete said again, as they filed out the door. 

" _We will_!" they shouted in unison, and slammed the door so hard the house shook.

Mikey looked over at him, remote in one hand and a poptart in the other. "Dude, _Ghostbusters_ is on."

"Really?" Pete said. "I fucking _love_ that movie."

"Me too," Mikey said, and clicked on the TV.

*

"Hemingway would like a rawhide chew," Winston announced politely, right after the Ghostbusters had gotten their first real call.

Hemmy barked and wiggled his butt. "Okay, boy." Pete reached down to scritch his head. "Would you like one, Winston?" 

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," Winston said, smiling so widely he drooled on Mikey's sock. 

"Not at all," Pete said. 

"Would I like a rawhide chew?" Mikey asked, staring wide-eyed at Pete.

Pete's mouth dropped open. He was trying to figure out how to explain when Mikey cracked up. 

"I'm joking!" he said, clutching his stomach and wheezing with laughter. "I know they're for dogs!"

"You're fucking hilarious," Pete said, trying not to smile. He leaned over and bumped shoulders with Mikey. "Dick." 

"Sucker," Mikey said, leaning in and nudging Pete back. "Can I have another Red Bull?" 

"How many have you had?" Pete said, looking at the cans on the table. 

Mikey made a face at him. "Just a couple." 

Pete shook his head. "You'll never sleep." He gathered up the empties and headed for the kitchen to get the dogs' treats.

Mikey flicked through the channels. "I want to stay up until you go to bed," he said, without turning away from the TV.

Pete was happy the only one who could see him was Hemmy, looking on anxiously as Pete took the bag out of the cupboard and shook out two rawhides, because he was smiling like a fucking idiot.

*

He woke up with Patrick leaning over him. The sky was just starting to turn gray outside the window, and Mikey was asleep on the couch beside him, head tipped over onto Pete's shoulder, arms folded across his chest.

"You should go downstairs now," Patrick whispered. 

"Yeah," Pete said. "Thanks." 

"No problem," Patrick said. 

"How'd it go tonight?" Pete asked.

"Good," Patrick said. "It was quiet."

"Good," Pete said. 

Patrick nodded. "Yeah. I'm going to turn in. Night, Pete."

"Night, night." 

Mikey was pressed warm against his side, heart pumping blood through his veins or the alien equivalent of the circulatory system, and Pete felt tingly and nervous all over his skin, like it was waking up too. He couldn't bring himself to move for a long time.

*

Pete was used to the constant ache in his teeth and his gut that the blend barely touched. Used to ruthlessly suppressing or redirecting the desire to stalk and hunt and feed. He told himself that was why it took him so long to realize that he didn't want to eat Mikey.

*

Mikey slept an hour longer than Pete that day. If Pete's hearing was as keen as he liked to think it was, Mikey bumped into the door of his room, tripped over something in the hall, then elbowed the newel post on the way around the corner to the kitchen.

"Hi," Pete said.

Mikey fell into the chair across from Pete at the table and looked at him mournfully. "Hi," he said, and then leaned over and rested his forehead on his folded arms. 

"Do you need coffee?" Pete asked.

"I don't know." Mikey's voice was muffled by his jacket sleeves. "What does it do?" 

Pete poured him a cup, added a little cream and sugar as an afterthought, then pushed the mug across the table. "Not everyone likes it," he cautioned. 

Mikey sat up and sniffed at the cup. "Smells good." He took a tiny sip, rolled it around in his mouth, and something like bliss settled over his even features. 

Pete smiled at him. "Good?" 

Mikey's eyes fluttered closed and he mmmmed with pleasure and took another sip. Pete stared at his heavy eyelids and smooth skin of his throat and did not lean across the table and touch them with his fingers and mouth. He really wanted to though. 

Mikey's eyes popped open. "Pete," he said, dreamily. "I really love coffee."

"I don't want to eat you!" Pete blurted out. 

Mikey's eyebrows shot up. "What." 

"I just want you to know that you can, you know. Trust me." 

"I do trust you," Mikey said his face was blank, but there was a hint of something in his voice. 

"Well," Pete said, uncertainly. "That's good."

Mikey took another mouthful of coffee and then stared sullenly into the mug. "Yeah, great."

It didn't make any sense, but Pete thought Mikey seemed kind of disappointed. "I don't–" Pete shook his head. Without knowing he was going to do it, he pulled his chair closer to Mikey and took his hand, stretched his arm out along the table. He bent until his lips were almost touching the inside of Mikey's arm, the softest most vulnerable part where his elbow folded, and breathed deeply. He sat back in his chair. "You don't smell like food, Mikey Way. You smell good but–" Pete shrugged helplessly. "It's a different kind of good."

"Oh," Mikey said, ducking his head, flushed and smiling. "Okay then."

*

Pete was in a state of soupy semiconsciousness when a low voice rumbled his pillow. He smiled and stretched.

"Pete," the voice said close to his ear. "Pete, Pete, Pete, Pete. I just ate a piece of bacon and half a banana and some muffin and then my belly hurt so I went outside and ate some grass and threw up on Patrick's shoe." 

His eyes flew open when a cold wet nose snuffled his cheek. "Hemmy!"

"Pete!" Hemmy said, and licked his face.

"Oh my God, this is so amazing," Pete said, laughing and sitting up in bed so he could put his arms around Hemingway's neck. "You can talk, boy!"

"Yes," Hemingway said, flopping across Pete's legs and looking up at him adoringly. "You are my favourite person. Also, I don't think I like bananas."

*

The moon was high in a clear cold sky and Pete was feeling antsy, frantic to get out of the house and into the shadows. Everyone else had left almost an hour ago.

"You've got all our numbers saved?" he said.

Mikey looked up from his iPhone and Pete's Blackberry vibrated in his hand. He read the text aloud: _Stop worrying Ill be fine. Can you pls get S-bucks on the way home._

Pete stuck a stake in the pocket of his hoodie and rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'll get you coffee, you junkie." 

Mikey flinched. Pete might have missed it if he hadn't been staring at Mikey's strange green-gold eyes, one of which had dark hazel flecks. 

"Um. That was a joke," Pete said, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sweatshirt. "Sorry." He didn't really know what he was apologizing for, but that happened sometimes. 

"No, I know. It's just–" Mikey shrugged awkwardly. "That's what happened with Gerard. He got so bad, we really didn't know if he'd make it. That's why he left Ellivelleb. He said he had to go away if he was going to get clean." 

Pete wanted to stake himself. His big fucking mouth. "Jesus, Mikey. I'm so sorry." He crossed the room and pulled Mikey into a hug. 

"It's okay." Mikey sighed, heavy and hot against Pete's shoulder. "I wanted to tell you."

"Is he better now?" Pete asked, rubbing Mikey's back and trying not to shiver.

"I hope so," Mikey said, wrapping his arms around Pete's waist and holding on tight.

*

Alicia had been in there too long. She was just supposed to run in, use the fire extinguisher filled with holy water as a distraction, grab the girl, and run right back out. She'd been in there four minutes. Pete couldn't wait any longer.

He jumped up, grabbed the bottom of the fire escape, and pulled himself silently up onto the platform, then ran up the steps to the second floor. He peaked through the window, but the room was dark and empty, no sign of a struggle. Pete tried the latch, but it was locked. He pulled the sleeve of his hoodie over his fist and was about to punch out the glass when Alicia sprinted out of the door below, two vampires he didn't recognize in close pursuit. 

Pete launched himself off the fire escape and landed on the back of the vampire in the lead, then rolled over and took the second one down too, making sure its face broke its fall. The shock gave him all the advantage he needed to work a little one-two stake action. He was up and dusting himself off when Alicia realized she was no longer being chased. 

"Show off," she said, bending over with her hands on her knees and taking a few deep, shaky breaths. 

"Yeah," Pete said, forcing his fangs to retract and reaching out to put a tentative hand on Alicia's back. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, shaking off his hand and standing up.

Pete stuck his hands in his pockets. "What about the girl?" 

Alicia just shook her head. "We had the room number wrong. I was too late."

"Did you–" 

"I took care of it." 

"This was supposed to be an easy one," Pete said, sitting down hard on the curb. "Fuck." 

Alicia sighed and sank down next to him. "Yeah."

*

That night Pete dreamed that he was chasing the same two vampires, but it ended much differently and left a phantom taste of copper in his mouth.

He avoided everyone that night.

*

"What about Blade?" Mikey said.

Pete just rolled his eyes.

"And Spike and Angel?" He was lit up and gesturing, leaning forward, his coffee cup forgotten in his hand. 

"Mikey, they're all fictional! Vampires don't have souls!" 

Mikey went still. "What about you?" he asked.

Pete hesitated. "I – I don't know." It made him crazy sometimes, wondering about it. Emotionally, he didn't feel much different than he did when he was alive. There were dark days when murder and revenge were all he could think of, but he wasn't entirely consumed by hate. He was still capable of loving people – it was just that now he also wanted to eat them. He didn't have to do it though. He was in control of himself. If there was a demon inside him instead of a soul, he didn't think he'd feel that way. He just wasn't made right for the world, not when he was alive and not now that he was dead. 

"I think you do have one," Mikey said seriously.

"Yeah?" Pete asked

Mikey reached out and touched Pete's arm, a little clumsy, sort of big-handed. "Yeah. I know it." 

Pete wasn't so sure, but the relief he felt at hearing Mikey say it was brighter and more painful than he could have imagined. 

Outside the window the sky was a rusty black, smeared with city lights, and a thin slice of moon nestled low between the rooftops. Mikey's fingers tightened on his wrist and, without being aware he was going to do it, Pete leaned in and kissed him.

Mikey let go of his arm and they both sat back and stared at each other, transfixed, until Joe staggered into the kitchen wearing a t-shirt that said Charm School Reject, opened the fridge, and drank all the orange juice straight from the carton.

"Hey, ladies," he said. "What's shakin'?"

*

Pete didn't sleep that day. He lay still for hours, half-sick with fear and excitement at what he might have started.

*

"I'm coming with you guys," Mikey said, the next night when they were all sitting around the table eating spaghetti and discussing their game plan.

"No," Pete said in his flattest tone.

"I didn't ask you," Mikey said, his eyes glittering and defiant. 

"Mikey, it's dangerous," Patrick said, twirling pasta around his fork. "You should at least do some training before you come out on a hunt." 

Pete slumped with relief. "Yeah. We have to train you up first." 

Mikey turned to him and narrowed his eyes. "Train me then." 

Pete looked to Patrick for help, but he just shrugged and mouthed _I tried._

"All right," Pete said, with extreme reluctance.

"Tonight," Mikey insisted. 

"Jesus, Mikey," he said. "The vampires aren't going anywhere!" 

Mikey propped one elbow on the table, rested his chin in his hand, and stared at him. 

Pete held out for about twenty seconds. "Fuck, _fine_ ," he said, getting up from the table like he was spring-loaded, knocking his chair over with a clatter. He rubbed his hands through his hair and then threw them up in the air. "Fine, you win."

Mikey just nodded, almost to himself. It was impossible to say what he was thinking. 

"I got a meatball!" Hemmy crowed from underneath the table.

*

Pete was getting out the rubber practice stakes when Mikey strolled into the training room an hour later. He was wearing jogging pants and one of Pete's old band t-shirts, which was threadbare and barely covered his hips. Pete couldn't stop looking.

"Hi," Mikey said, picking up one of the stakes from on top of the pommel horse Andy had wrongly insisted would become a crucial part of their training sessions. Pete wasn't even sure what you were supposed to do with it. They'd never used it, except to pile shit on or hide behind when they were doing attack simulations. 

Pete stared at Mikey's shoulder blades, sharp beneath his shirt. He looked far too breakable. "So, hey. How do you want to do this?"

Mikey shrugged. "Well, what do you guys usually do?" 

"We practice with the weapons. And sometimes we spar."

"Okay," Mikey said, looking around the room. "Weapons practice first."

*

Mikey was surprisingly proficient with a crossbow, moderately talented with a broadsword, and quick and accurate with the supersoaker and the ax, but he somehow got them both tangled up in the net. Pete twisted around on the mat trying to free them, but Mikey was laughing too hard be helpful, his face close and scary-beautiful. Pete started to laugh with him. It took him over and made him feel a little giddy

"I think I'll let someone else use this tomorrow," Mikey said, flailing at the net, still laughing. 

Pete froze. He'd almost forgotten why they were doing this. It must have been written all over his face.

"I'm going, Pete," Mikey said, his voice tight and defensive. 

"I know," Pete said. "I just ... I don't want you to." 

Mikey frowned. " But you said I was doing well."

"You are!" Pete shouted, surprising both of them. "But these creatures, Mikey, they're vicious. All they care about is feeding. They'll do anything to get you." 

Mikey grabbed one end of the net and somehow managed to struggle free from it. "Let's spar then. And don't go easy on me." He grabbed a rubber stake and took a defensive stance, expression fierce, hair ridiculously rumpled. 

Pete rolled back onto his shoulders and kipped up into a crouch, thinking about his options for a second before lunging away and rolling behind the pommel horse. He picked up the crossbow and, before Mikey could move, fired a practice arrow at the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. He could still see perfectly, and hear even better, Mikey diving across the room toward the door, heart beating savagely in his chest.

Mikey jumped to his feet and hit the light switch, but Pete was right there, smirking. He had an instant to feel victorious about the shock in Mikey's eyes, but then he was staggered by a fucking impressively fast forearm smash to the jaw. He was still reeling when Mikey dropped to the floor, kicked his legs out from under him, and straddled him. He grabbed Pete by the throat with one hand and pressed the tip of the stake to his heart with the other. 

"Okay," Pete wheezed, as calmly as he could when his windpipe was being crushed. "Not bad." 

Mikey rolled his eyes and let go of Pete's throat. "You suck so much." 

"I just don't want you to lose your edge," he said, covering Mikey's hand, still clutching the stake.

"I'll be fine," Mikey said. 

"I know," Pete said, and he meant it. 

"You still don't want me to go." Mikey sighed and hoisted himself up to a standing position. He held a hand out to Pete and pulled him up.

"No." He lifted up one hand before Mikey could interject. "I know you can hold your own," he said, "but I'm still scared." 

"Of what?" 

With his hair sticking up in wild tufts and his eyes dark and bright, Mikey looked like a bird, and Pete wanted fiercely to protect him – from the world, from vampires, from himself – even if he didn't need it. He shook his head, frustrated. 

"Tell me," Mikey said.

"Maybe – maybe I just don't want you to see me like that. Hunting," Pete admitted. But that wasn't even the half of it.

Mikey reached out and wrapped his fingers around Pete's shoulder. His lips were parted, his gaze deep and unwavering. "Stop freaking out, Pete." 

Pete's breath caught when Mikey’s thumb slipped over his collarbone, and when Mikey leaned in and pressed their mouths together carefully, a shiver rocked his spine. 

"What do you want me to do?" Pete said quietly, letting his eyes flutter shut and leaning in to rest his forehead against Mikey's. 

Mikey took Pete's hand and pressed it over his heart so Pete could feel it race. "Whatever you want."

Pete cupped the base of his skull with both hands, urged Mikey back until they bumped up against the wall, and kissed him for real.

*

He wanted everything, Mikey's skin, breath, bones.

Heat flared in Pete's chest, high up behind his collarbones, when he opened his eyes to see Mikey's face, flushed and close and beautiful, delicate arch of a brow, gleaming skin of his cheek. He was lying back in Pete's bed, fingers flexing in the sheets, knees up and apart. Pete wrapped his fingers around Mikey's flushed slippery cock. With each tight pull, Mikey arched a little more urgently, flexed more violently against Pete's body, his hands and mouth. He let out a hot juddering breath and Pete breathed it in greedily, shivering and pressing closer, kissing the sweet curve of Mikey's throat. Mikey gasped and knocked his hand away, wrapped his legs around Pete's hips and drew him in tight, tilting his pelvis up, yanking Pete into another kiss. A groan slid up Pete's throat when Mikey grabbed his ass hard with both hands and arched fiercely against him.

Pete's entire body was wound tight and desperate, every inch of it singing. He couldn't breathe or move or do anything but hold on and let his orgasm shudder through him – bone-deep, all-encompassing bliss.

*

"Is this what you really look like?" Pete whispered, pressing his fingers into the grooves between Mikey's ribs.

Mikey sighed and tipped his head back so Pete could mouth the tender skin of his neck. "This is what I look like when I'm with you." 

Pete placed a line of sucking kisses along Mikey's collarbone. "It doesn't matter to me what you look like. You know that right?" 

Mikey pushed himself up onto his elbows and stared at Pete in a strange, unsettling way. "Yeah?" he asked.

Pete nodded.

"Close your eyes," Mikey said.

Behind Pete's eyelids, everything spangled red and gold, like the sunrise, then flashed the brightest, blinding white.

*

Night fell hard.

Pete watched Mikey strap a stake to his wrist and fill a messenger bag with crossbow bolts with mounting dread. Just looking at him did something complicated inside Pete's chest. "Ready?" he asked when Mikey had shouldered the bag and picked up the crossbow. 

"Yes," Mikey said, his face taut.

Pete grimaced. He stuck a stake in his pocket and opened the door. "Then let's do this."

*

"I knew this was a bad idea," Pete lisped through his fangs. "When I find that guy, I'm going to rip him to fucking pieces."

"Pete," Mikey said. "I'm fine." 

"You're not fine!" Pete shouted, his voice tinged with hysteria. "You're _bleeding_. You could have a concussion!"

"It's just a scratch," he said. "I've had worse."

"But not because of me!" Pete said, pulling his sleeve down over his hand and pressing it to the cut on Mikey's brow. "I should have had that guy." 

"I don't think–" Mikey shook his head. "Never mind."

"What?" Pete asked. 

"I don't think he would have hurt me," Mikey said. 

Pete could only gape. "Have you lost your fucking mind? Mikey, you are _wrong_ about them. What do I have to do to convince you that they'll kill you if they get the chance?" 

Mikey hugged his hands in under his armpits and gave him a questioning look. "What do I have to do to convince you that you might be wrong?"

Pete didn't know how to reply.

*

Mikey was asleep, tangled in the sheets, his face pale and perfect in the flat light.

"Hey," Pete whispered, gently touching his shoulder. "Mikey, wake up."

Mikey's eyes fluttered open and he gave Pete a long look, his eyes dark and assessing. 

Pete spoke fast, before he could think better of it, even though the little voice at the back of his head said this was a bad idea. "I just wanted to tell you that you are, without a doubt, the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me in my life." His voice sounded strange and hollow, and he felt a little stupid, but he forged on. "I know you might not–"

"Pete," Mikey reached for him, tugging at his hands until Pete stretched out on the bed beside him. "I love you too."

*

Pete woke just after sunset. Outside the narrow windows the sky was bruised, deep violet.

Mikey was gone.

*

"What do you mean gone?" Patrick said.

"I mean not in this house!" Pete paced anxiously up and down the room, quick steps.

"Maybe he just went for a walk," Alicia offered. 

Pete shook his head. "How long have you guys been awake?" 

"Since around noon, I think." Patrick blinked hard and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I've been working here all afternoon. I would have seen him leave." 

Alicia frowned. "So unless he went on a five-hour-long walk–"

Patrick slapped the table. "Wait, what about Winston?"

"He and Hemmy are asleep in my room," Alicia said. 

Pete's heart flipped up and punched the base of his throat. "He wouldn't go anywhere without Winston." 

"What if he found Gerard?" Patrick said.

"He would have told someone," Pete said. "And I still don't think he would have left without Winston. How would he get anywhere?" He raked his hands through his hair and clenched his hands into fists. 

"Then what?" Patrick said. "No one can get into the house." 

"No," Pete said. "But maybe they didn't need to."

"After what happened last night?" Alicia said, her voice edging tensely into the upper registers. "He can't still believe they're all just misunderstood!" 

They stared at each other, wide-eyed and silent.

" _Fuck_ ," Patrick hissed.

"I'm going after him," Pete said.

*

Apparently, he just missed him at the all night coffee shop. He didn't miss the vampire who was stupid enough to laugh at him when he turned his back though, which was some consolation.

*

Where is he?" Pete whispered, a low dangerous breath. He twisted the neck of the vampire's shirt even tighter around his fist and leaned in, flashed some fang.

"He's not here, I swear! But I think I saw him earlier, at the Butcher's place." 

Pete let go of his shirt and the guy stumbled back against the rough brick wall. "Give me the address."

*

Pete slipped through the door and into the gloom of the bar, hugging the wall. He saw a few familiar faces, no one he particularly wanted to get into it with, but no sign of Mikey. He leaned against the wall, head down, watching and waiting. When the time was right, he followed a red-headed waitress down through a door marked Staff Only. "Hey," he said.

She whirled around, saw him, and dropped her tray of glasses with a crash that echoed in the narrow hall. "Shit," she whispered.

He darted in and grabbed her wrist before she could run away. "I just want to talk to you," he said. 

Her eyes were wide, but she didn't seem particularly terrified. Pete wondered if he was losing his touch. 

"Well?" she said, shaking off his hand and looking at him expectantly. "Talk." 

"I want to know if you've seen someone."

She rolled her eyes. "Honey, I've seen a whole lot of someones. You're going to need to be a little more specific." 

Pete sighed. "Okay, he's a few inches taller than me, pale, dark eyes, probably dressed all in black–"

The girl laughed, low and husky. "You just described our entire clientele."

Pete narrowed his eyes.

"Sorry," she said, and made a twirly hand gesture. "Go on."

"He usually wears his hair slicked back in a pompadour–"

"Wait, Mikey?"

"You know him?" Pete asked, shocked. 

"Totally!" She smiled and nodded at him. "He came in earlier to talk to some people and we totally hit it off. Hold on a sec," she said, and stuck her hand in her apron and pulled out her phone. "Check it!" 

Her wallpaper was a picture of them, arms around one another's shoulders. She was beaming widely and Mikey was staring solemnly at the camera. 

"That's him, right?" she said. 

"Yeah," Pete said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "That's him."

*

"–but the girl, her name is Ashlee, didn't know where he was going, but she thought she'd seen him talking to Mike and William before he left."

"Fuck," Alicia said, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms across her chest. "We should have warned him." 

"I told him," Pete said, rubbing his forehead and sighing. "I told him about Dirty. I told him about Matt."

Alicia shook her head. "Then what is he doing?" 

"He still thinks they could all be like Pete, if only someone told them how," Patrick said. "He was asking about the blend, what was in it. I should have realized," he said, looking down at his hands twisted together on the table. "I could have talked him out of it." 

"Who does he think he is?" Andy threw up his hands. "The fucking Department of Vampire Peacekeeping?" 

"Oh my God," Alicia said, sliding down the wall until she was sitting on the floor and wrapping her arms around herself. "This is so bad." 

"Is he even edible?" Andy said. 

"Yeah," Joe said. "If so, he might already be dead. Or worse." 

"Not helpful, guys!" Patrick shouted.

"What?" Joe said, shrugging. "You know I drop truth bombs." 

"I'll get him back tomorrow night," Pete said, sharp as a knife into the silence. "Whatever it takes."

*

The next day, they hit the streets the instant the sun dipped below the horizon. But Mikey wasn't at Butcher's, and he wasn't at any of the dozen other clubs and bars they checked, though somehow he'd managed to visit most of them and befriend most of the town's vampires in the day and a half he'd been missing.

_"Mikey? Yeah! That guy is the shit! Do you want me to try calling him for you?"_

_"Yeah, he was just here, but I think he left with Victoria and a bunch of guys a while ago."_

_"Have you seen his Randy Savage impersonation, dude? 'Oh, yeah!' I nearly died laughing. Aahahaha, died."_

"How is this possible?" Patrick said, jogging alongside Pete in an attempt to keep up. "Everyone knows him!" 

"I don't know," Pete said, through gritted teeth. 

"Let's check The Gallant next," Patrick panted. "I'll call the others, let them know."

*

He was there, sitting in a plush booth, flanked by Brendon and William. Patrick tried to hold him back, but Pete shook him off, leaned across the table and grabbed them both by the throat. "I am going to fucking end you," he said, smiling his most dangerous smile.

"Pete, let them go," Mikey said.

It was strange. His voice was barely louder than a whisper, and there was no heat behind the words at all, but Pete's hands unfurled and his fangs stopped aching to sink into flesh the instant Mikey opened his mouth.

William glared sharply at Pete and shot the cuffs of his crisp white linen shirt. Brendon smoothed his cravat and angled his hat with exaggerated care before reclining casually in his chair and turning to Mikey. "I thought you said he was cool," he said.

"He is," Mikey said, wearing a pained expression. "But he's being a bit of a dick now." 

Pete's mouth dropped open. 

"What the hell is going on?" Patrick asked, sounding as confused as Pete felt. "We're here to rescue you."

"I assure you, he's in no danger from us," William said starchily. "However hard you might find it to believe, some people actually seek out our company." 

Pete ignored him. "Are you in thrall?" he asked, peering into Mikey's eyes.

"I'm fine," Mikey said. "Can we talk for a minute?"

"You can sit beside me," Brendon said, patting the cushioned seat next to him and smiling toothily at Patrick.

Patrick edged closer to Pete.

"Mikey, come home with us," Pete pleaded, waving goodbye to whatever street cred he might have had. "This is crazy." 

"I'm sorry," Mikey said, "but I couldn't think of any other way. Sit down and let me explain."

*

"So you'll do it?" Mikey said, and got into the back seat of the car.

Patrick closed the passenger side door and said, "I just cannot believe you pulled that off."

Pete slammed into the front seat, gripped the wheel so tightly he heard a cracking sound, and started the engine. 

Mikey slid into the middle of the bench seat and stuck his head between the front seats. "I know you're mad, Pete, but I think you and Travis are really going to hit it off." 

Pete peeled out of the parking lot and hoped the squeal of tires would drown out the sound of his teeth grinding together.

*

Everyone else went to bed, but Mikey was still hovering around, looking over Pete's shoulder as he surfed the internet and apologizing every five minutes.

"Are you ever going to forgive me?" Mikey said, and nudged him slightly.

Pete sighed. He didn't want to forgive him. He wanted to nurse his grudge and refuse to meet with William and Travis to discuss the truce and give Mikey the cold shoulder until he could regrow his fucking dignity or whatever. But he just couldn't do it. "I already forgive you," he admitted. 

"Really?" Mikey said.

Pete leaned back so his shoulder was pressed to Mikey's thumping heart. "Yeah." 

"Oh my God," Mikey said in a shocked little voice.

Pete could feel his heart rate speeding up. "What?" he said, twisting around to look at Mikey's astonished face. "What is it." 

"Gerard," Mikey said, staring at the Craigslist ad Pete had open on the laptop.

 

**NO-NAME ROCK BAND SEEKS BASSIST (CLIFTON, NJ)**

_Date: 2009-12-11, 12:37PM EST  
Reply to: thisway@gmail.com _

_Hard rock band looking for bassist. Influences include: The Misfits, Morrissey, Queen, Iron Maiden, Black Flag, and The Smashing Pumpkins. Must have a gift for coming up with awesome band names. Looking for our final member so we can start melting faces._

_If interested, reply with contact number._

 

"I can't believe it," Mikey breathed. "I should have known it would be New Jersey." 

"What?" Pete said. "Why?"

"When we were kids, we were, like, obsessed with The Misfits. And The Smiths," he added, almost as an afterthought. 

"So it could be worse," Pete said, struggling to keep his voice light. "It could be London." 

"I guess," Mikey said, sighing and plucking at the hem of Pete's shirt. "But I'm going to miss you either way."

Pete grabbed Mikey's hands and tried to ignore the fierce ache that seemed to be centered in the general vicinity of his heart. "I'm going to miss the shit out of you too, MikeyWay."

*

 _Do you want to grab coffee? Mikey said we’d have lots to talk about :) :) Ashlee x_

*

They'd been talking for hours when she leaned across the table and took Pete's hand. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Uh. Yeah?" Pete said, although he was kind of afraid of what she might say.

"Okay," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear with her free hand and taking a deep breath. "I don't know why I'm so nervous about this, but I've just ... I've never told anyone."

"You can tell me," Pete said, gently, squeezing her fingers. "It'll go straight into the vault." 

"Okay," she said again, then leaned in even closer, closed her eyes, and whispered, "I don't actually like killing people."

Pete's gasped. His eyes went crazy wide. 

"I know," Ashlee said, and tried to pull her hand away, "I'm a freak." 

"What?" he said. "No! You're not. I don't like it either. I never have."

"Really?" Ashlee asked, and beamed at him. 

"Really," he said.

"I'm so relieved," Ashlee said, laughing tossing her hair back over her shoulders. "I was afraid you were going to be all, 'Care for a nightcap?' And I was going to have to make some excuse so I didn't have to end the night with blood under my nails and in my hair, feeling all disgusting and bloated! I'm so glad Mikey told me to get in touch with you!" 

"Me too," Pete said, and he was only a little surprised to realize that it was true.

End.


End file.
